Controversy in art. You knew it was coming. All this pretention. What is art again? Can something be artistic if it was never intended that way? If someone tries to be artistic and fails miserably, is it still art? Truffaut supposedly emphasised directors over films. That a bad film can say more about film-making than a good one in some cases. So I guess art is self-referential to some degree. Ebert says there should be a sort of harmony between the meaning or content of a film and its tone. You have to have an awareness of your own style. Not necessarily. But it has to go well with what you are trying to say. X-men is a classic example of a tone clash. Far too serious and “realistic” in tone to match the ridiculous details. Let us not focus on negatives.
I associate art with those rarer, deeper things in life. A great masterwork is difficult to match. Is this avant-garde reaction to and commentary on art itself art? Or just garbage? The best art transcends things. Nolan arguably made a great and powerful film with The Dark Knight. Although it is based partially on other ideas, it is very original and full of its own unique energy. If he was hung up on finding a place to fit in, a way to critique or respond to other movies (how is movies not spelled correctly, WordPress?!) and ideas, he would not have gotten this far.
We choose what we latch onto. The barriers we want to be contained within. Until we’re ready to embrace freedom and all that it implies. It’s all in the moment. You’re only a great singer when you’re singing. Where am I then? Not sure, hard to tell from within. Testing myself. Acting from nothing. Trying to clean up my mind. Understand the loop-holes in my beliefs. I’m not afraid. I am guilt-ridden. I am obsessed. But I’m not swallowed by these flaws. I think I know how to vanquish them. Like all things, it takes time.
My old writing, so tame, so misguided. Just like these words. When I read them a while later. You arrive too late and the mood has disappeared. You try to force it and lose another little bit of your livelihood. One symptom is indirectness. Always planning. Never confronting things head-on. I once knew life. Sanity. I have vague memories of knowing what life was. Before it became habits and thoughts and processes. I don’t trust myself. Used to believe in something. This natural goodness of ordinary people. Of laughing and doing normal things. Now I always search for more. Maybe we left someone out. I won’t rest. Taking too much in at once. People cope by believing stereotypes. Choose the insanity of the raw truth or of lying to yourself. One is right and one is easy. And one is doing well if they’re still reading this pretentious prose.